


Nightlock

by smithel



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Victory tour AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithel/pseuds/smithel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, I’m not saying I’m that keen on this either – it’s just a last resort. I’ll be here as long as you still want me around, but then if it gets to be too much, we have an out.” An out. He thinks so little of himself that he’s coolly and calmly laid out this plan for his own death to protect me. </p>
<p>The Victory Tour takes a slightly different turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Hunger Games fanfic, so I hope Katniss and Peeta aren't too OOC. This has been floating around in my head for some time and after I saw Mockingjay 2 I just had to write it down. I haven't decided yet whether this will just be a few chapters covering the Victory Tour or whether it'll keep going further into the Quarter Quell, but I'll do a few more at least. I suppose I was just thinking about what might have been able to force Katniss to at least start to confront her feelings earlier.

After our disastrous appearance in District 11, Peeta and I throw ourselves wholeheartedly into improving the impression we make in public. I think I’m getting better at being vapid and sappy, and Peeta has developed what I think of as his "Capitol face" - a suave but blank smile that conceals anything he's actually thinking. We try cutesy nicknames for each other for a while, but I keep almost laughing and he isn't much better, especially if we've had a glass of wine at the feast, so we have to stop that. We’re together constantly, always in arm’s reach of each other. I have to admit, though, I'm glad the act involves so much handholding. Sometimes his firm grip is the only thing keeping me grounded as we smile and talk and dance as though the lives of everyone we love aren't relying on us seeming to have a wonderful time.

The more I get to know him, the more I think that I could have a good time with Peeta if I weren't terrified all the time. It turns out he's funny, as well as generous and kind. For all his good boy charm, he's got a snarky sense of humour, a quick mind, and absolutely no respect for authority. And thank goodness for that. Sometimes when it's all getting too much for me, he'll pull me close to him and pretend to whisper sweet nothings - when what he's really doing is filling my ear with a caustic commentary on Effie's speech, or a Mayor's fawning wife, or our stylists' wardrobes. After a few seconds I find I'm able to take a full breath, squeeze his hand in gratitude, and I don't have to fake the smile on my face or the soft kiss I give him in response to his words.

Still, it's mostly the officials important enough to rate an invitation to the feasts and receptions that see this and by the time we’re halfway through the tour it’s clear that it’s not enough. When we speak to the crowds I'm still awkward and distant. I can't make Effie's speeches sound like anything I'd say myself. Peeta does a lot more talking than I do, but he can't carry the act on his own and I feel paralysed looking down at the sea of resentful faces in every district. I try to look pleasant and earnest, but let's face it, pleasant was never my thing. Every smile feels like a grimace.  
  
So when we pull out of District 5, more gunshots echoing in our ears, I do something I never thought I'd do: I suggest we get married. Peeta's been looking grim and pale anyway since we got back on the train, and now his face tightens further. "Sure," he says roughly. "Why not?" Then he walks out of the lounge car without another word. I rise to go after him, but Haymitch grabs my wrist.  
  
"What's his problem?" I demand. "This is what he wanted."  
  
"Not like this, Sweetheart," Haymitch says. "He wanted it to be real. If you think for one second that what he wanted was to trap you in a marriage you don't want, you don't know him at all. Leave him be for a bit." I’m relieved when he grabs a glass and a decanter and stumbles off to his own room, leaving me to watch the scenery in peace.

By the time we stop to refuel we must have reached District 4, because we’ve been going along the seashore for an hour or so. I’m trying to decide whether I can get away with climbing off for some fresh air when I see Peeta walking determinedly across the sand towards the water. Before I can stop to think I’m rushing after him, shoving past Haymitch, who tries to grab me.

“I thought I told you to give him some space,” he grumbles.

“I’ve got this,” I say. “It’s ok.”

I slow my pace as I reach Peeta, and kick at the sand a bit as I’m walking so he can hear me coming. He doesn’t even look at me when I sit beside him.

“You can tell Haymitch I’ll be fine by the time the prep team needs me,” he says. “I just need some space to get used to the idea that I’m ruining the life of the girl I’ve loved since I was five.” His words are uncharacteristically bitter. I feel a flash of irritation at his wallowing, but I put it aside – he’s been nothing but supportive to me, and whatever his feelings for me I know he wouldn’t make an issue of them if he could help it, and nothing in his life is turning out the way he wanted it either.

“You’re not ruining my life. The Games did that,” I point out. The statement is so overtly dangerous that it startles him, and he scans the beach for anyone who can overhear us before turning to me. “Look, this marriage thing – it’s not that I don’t want to marry _you_ ,” I say. He snorts, turning his face slightly away but failing to mask the grimace of disbelief that crosses his features. “No, really, it’s not.” I quail for a moment, but Peeta was right our first day on the train. If we’re going to rely on each other we need to know each other. And I know by now that I need him to be with me in this. I need not to be alone out here. “And it’s not Gale. It’s just – I was never interested in romance. I never wanted to marry anyone, ever. I put everything I had into looking out for Prim because I didn’t have a choice, but I just don’t understand how anyone can risk having children, just to see them starve to death or go through the Games. I couldn’t bear it. And my mother…” I glance over at him, and I see that now I have his full attention. There’s a look of awful sadness on his face, but I don’t know whether he’s sad for me, or for his own shattered dreams. “Nothing was left of my mother after my father died. She was so destroyed that she was willing to let her children starve to death in front of her own eyes, rather than pull herself out of her pain. I don’t ever want to be in that position.” I finish quietly, looking out towards the ocean but really seeing Prim’s hollow cheeks. “If you hadn’t tossed me that bread…” I hear Peeta draw a shaky breath. When he rests a tentative hand on my shoulder, and I use the excuse to lean into him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realise just how bad. I know how it feels, though, to be betrayed by your mother.” I think of all the times I saw him come to school bruised and aching, and can’t help but wrap my arms around him, as though I could go back in time and soothe the hurt little boy he once was. I think of the beating he took for me that I never thanked him for, and again I feel a rush of gratitude to him.

“Listen, I’ve had an idea,” he says, with a peculiar, fervent undertone to his voice. “I know we have to get married, and I’m worried about what they’ll expect. Whether Snow will want … children. It bothered me before, but now I’m sure we’re going to need this plan.” I glance up at him in confusion. He’s looking out to sea with a reckless expression on his face. “I refuse to force myself on you. I can’t stand to think that what I feel for you is a weapon. It’s bad enough now, when we just have to fake this teen romance, but when we’re older…” I feel cold. I know what they’ll want when we’re older. I shift away from him, wrapping my arms around myself, and he lets me go.

It’s not that I don’t know where babies come from, or what marriage entails, but I hadn’t really made myself think all this through. I had resented the fact that Snow took away my ability to choose what I did with my life. I had worried about how my choices would impact Gale. But I hadn’t really considered all the implications, not seriously. That the Capitol would expect us to … I can’t help the embarrassed flush that I’m sure is covering my face at the thought. What does surprise me is the unexpected flash of heat that shoots through me at the thought, reminding me of the one kiss in the cave when I didn’t want him to stop. There’s something… not completely unpleasant… about the thought of sharing a bed with Peeta, even as my stomach roils in humiliation. I try to shove that reaction to the back of my mind, and it’s replaced by dread of what Snow would do to any child we had.

“Don’t worry,” Peeta assures me. “I have a plan.” I still can’t look at him, so he just keeps talking, quickly and quietly. “You said there’s nightlock berries in the woods. We take some and plant them in the garden, with other, safe berries around them. Then if it looks like they’re going to try to – to force us into something you don’t want, I’ll just bake a batch of muffins or something, make sure I eat the first one, and as far as anyone knows it’s an accident. You play the grief-stricken widow for a while, Haymitch will help, and hopefully Snow will leave you be for a bit. Maybe eventually you’ll drop off their radar enough you can be with Gale.”

My jaw drops. I knew he was prepared to die for me in the Games, but since we’ve been out of the arena he’s been fighting as hard for survival as I have. Or so I thought. “You can’t be serious. That is not a solution,” I insist. “And I told you, none of this is about Gale.”

“No. It’s about the fact that you never wanted love, you never wanted marriage, you never wanted children. And now because of me you might be forced into all three. You can’t expect me to live with that.”

“Peeta, you couldn’t have known this would happen. There’s no way you could have imagined we would both survive. You were trying to save me, and you did. We’ll figure this out together.”

“Look, I’m not saying I’m that keen on this either – it’s just a last resort. I’ll be here as long as you still want me around, but then if it gets to be too much, we have an out.” An out. He thinks so little of himself that he’s coolly and calmly laid out this plan for his own death to protect me. The thought of dealing with the Capitol year after year by myself, having to mentor with just Haymitch by my side, of never again being pulled out of a nightmare to nestle in his strong arms, makes me want to be sick. My breath starts coming fast and shallow as I imagine myself coming downstairs in my house (his house? our house? where will we live?) finding his dead body in the kitchen, mouth and fingers stained with dark berry juice.

“And I just get on with my life?” I ask incredulously. “I just keep going, mentoring all those kids with only Haymitch to help? You would seriously leave me alone with him, both of us knowing that you’d _died_ for me? No. Absolutely not. If I see so much as one nightlock berry near the house I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he asks bleakly.

“I don’t know, but you won’t like it!” I insist, and to my surprise I realise I’m starting to cry, the shock of imagining Peeta dead in our home hitting me somewhere deep inside. When I sniff and wipe my cheeks, the motion makes him turn enough to look at me properly. When he sees my tears he immediately looks sorry and pulls me to him, enfolding me in his warm and comforting embrace.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Easy now, I’m not going anywhere yet. I won’t go anywhere as long as you need me,” he assures me. As soon as I realise he’s not really giving up the plan I shove him away, sending him sprawling back in the sand.

“That is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” I say flatly. “I’m serious. You’re not allowed to make any more plans.” He gives a surprised laugh.

“Maybe I didn’t really think it through. I just couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you,” he says softly, not meeting my eyes.

“Losing you would hurt me,” I say quietly. His only answer is a disbelieving snort. I think of him sitting alone in his big house all these months, and I realise with some surprise that he really doesn’t think anyone needs him. Steeling myself, I look him straight in the eyes and repeat myself. “It would hurt _me_. I don’t know what we are, but you matter. You matter to me.”

“Ok,” he says, sounding resigned. “It’s ok, I’ll stick it out.” He heaves a sigh. “We should get back. Effie will be freaking out about the schedule.” He stands before offering me a hand and pulling me to my feet. When I refuse to let go of his hand, he takes one look at my scared face before slinging an arm over my shoulder and clasping me to his side, our hands still joined. Unsurprisingly, Haymitch is waiting for us at the door.

“You two ok, then?” he asks, examining us closely. “No bloodshed?”

“We’re ok,” says Peeta. “Let’s get this over with.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For so long I’ve been under a blanket of fear about losing everyone and everything I love - but last night I spent my sleeping and waking hours confronting the specific dread of losing Peeta, and I don’t like it at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of the crux of the story - the "what if Peeta had been able to force Katniss to confront some of her feelings sooner" moment. I hope you think it plays out convincingly. Please comment if you do!

I lie awake a long time that night, waiting to see whether Peeta comes to me, but in the end I fall into an uneasy sleep alone. When I dream it’s not my usual nightmares of the Games. I’m lying in bed at home, early sunlight seeping past the curtains that shift gently in the cool breeze that comes in through the open window. I roll over, reaching for Peeta to warm me up – somehow in the dream I know he should be there - and am disappointed when the other side of the bed is empty. The smell of something sweet and fruity baking tells me where he is, though. I roll sleepily out of bed, already smiling in anticipation as I pad silently down the stairs. I push open the door to the kitchen and immediately stop short in shock when I see him. He’s slumped down in his chair, a hint of berry juice on his blue lips, his eyes staring blankly straight at me. I start screaming…

And finally I realise I’m sitting in bed on the train but I can’t stop screaming. _Peeta_ , is the only thing I can think. _Peeta_ … I tumble out of bed, fighting to get free of the bed clothes, and rush to the door. I’m just pushing through it when I hit something warm and solid.

“Katniss,” Peeta says. “Hey, Katniss, it’s ok, I’m here. It was just a dream. It’s over.” I still can’t breathe, can’t stop crying, can’t do anything other than cling to him. He finally just picks me up and carries me across the room, sitting on the bed still holding me. When I start to come back to myself, the first thing I do is thump him on the arm with my fist. “Ow, Katniss, what was that?” he exclaims.

“This is all your fault, you idiot!” I insist. Usually I don’t want to talk about my dreams, but this one I lay squarely at his door so I tell him every detail. By the time I finish he looks agonised. Good.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” I don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep again, now that my subconscious has a whole new set of ways to kill Peeta in my dreams. Still, being alone isn’t going to help. “I’m going to try to go back to sleep. You’re staying, right?” Peeta looks kind of lost. I guess he expected me to be so mad I was going to kick him out, and it’s tempting, but I don’t think I’d feel safe without him right now. I move up towards my pillows and try to sort out my blankets. “Well?”

“Yeah,” he answers hastily. “Yeah, of course.” He climbs in after me, and lets me rest my head on his chest as he wraps his arms around me. I lie awake a long time, listening to his heartbeat. It’s pretty fast at first, but fatigue gradually pulls at us both and I can feel myself drifting off as it slows down to a normal pace.

“Sounds like it was a nice dream before the end, though. Wasn’t it?” he whispers eventually.

I’m almost asleep, my mind already reaching towards oblivion, but somehow almost despite myself I hear my voice saying “Yeah, it was.”

Inevitably, it’s not the last nightmare I have that night. The next one is also a new horror – I’m sitting in the living room of our suite in the training centre, watching tv as tribute after tribute dies, helpless to do anything to help them, while Haymitch snores next to me in a drunken stupor. I run out into the street, trying to find someone to sponsor them, but all the Capitolites laugh in my face. I start awake, gasping but at least not screaming for a change. I elbow Peeta in my haste to sit up and catch my breath. Spitefully, I tell him this dream too. When I finish he heaves a deep sigh.

“I don’t know what to say, Katniss. I’m sorry I scared you. You know, though, that I would never leave you hanging when you need me. Mentoring will be awful no matter what, but I promise we’ll do it together if you want us to. As long as you think it’s worth it.” _As long as you think it’s worth it._ What does he mean by that? Does he feel like I’m weighing this up as a trade – sharing my life, maybe even eventually my body with him in return for his support whenever we’re in the Capitol? My face burns at even the thought, and I’m glad he’s looking away. But is it worth losing Peeta on the off-chance that Snow might someday want us to have a baby to continue our happily ever after farce? _No. Absolutely not._

Not for the first time, I’m annoyed that whatever feelings I’ve got for Peeta are almost impossible to deal with in the situation we’re in. I don’t want to have to think about this at all. It’s so tempting just to stick to my usual avoidance tactics, but I suppose I owe it to Peeta to at least start to think through what I’m doing with him the way he has. I do know that the thought of losing him is just as unbearable as it was at the end of the games. I need him in a way I’ve never wanted to need anyone. And after the last week I know that I actually like him, too. The lesson for today though is that Peeta doesn’t seem to know any of this.

I pretend to go to sleep after that and so does Peeta, but I’m pretty sure we both lie awake until the Capitol attendant knocks discreetly on my door, telling us it’s time to get up. We hear a knock on Peeta’s door next. Usually this manages to raise at least a weary chuckle because while it’s hardly a secret that Peeta sleeps in my room, Effie is determined to keep pretending that we spend the nights separately and probably insists on both of us being roused. Today, though, we glance uncomfortably at each other before looking away.

“I should go get ready,” Peeta finally says.

“Yeah,” I agree. But when he stands to leave, I grab his hand and pull him back.

“Katniss, what-?” he starts to ask, but he stops when I go up on my knees on the bed and just wrap my arms tightly around him, giving in to an impulse I’ve had the last few mornings not to let him leave. Is it because these nights are our only haven, and as soon as he’s gone I’ll also have to get ready and go out and face the tour again? Or is it just … him? Not to mention the way yesterday gave me a glimpse of how lonely he’s been, how useless and abandoned I’ve let him feel while I’ve been sharing a house with my family and hanging out with Gale, almost the same as ever – at least I’m sure that’s how it looked from his vantage point next door. For so long I’ve been under a blanket of fear about losing everyone and everything I love - but last night I spent my sleeping and waking hours confronting the specific dread of losing Peeta, and I didn’t like it at all.

I suddenly can't bear to go back to standing in front of the cameras and letting them dissect everything that happens between us. When I lift my face to him, I tell myself I'm just looking for one last real thing before we leave my room. Before I let myself analyse it too much, I grab the front of his shirt and pull his face down to mine for a quick kiss. Peeta blinks in surprise. "Katniss, what-?" I don't want to answer his question, so I kiss him again, pulling him down to sit on the bed next to me. Peeta kisses me back at first, as I knew he would, but after a few seconds he pushes me firmly back. "Katniss, this isn't a good idea," he says, his face sombre. "There's no point when it's just the two of us."  
  
I'm up and slamming the bathroom door behind me before I even register that what I'm feeling is shame. "Well you don't have to kiss me if you don't want to," I snap through it at him. I stare at my red, shocked face in the mirror trying to figure out what just happened, even as Peeta starts hammering at the door and demanding to be let in.  
  
"Katniss, dammit, let me in so we can talk about this."  
  
"No!" I shout back. "Go away."  
  
"You can't seriously think I'm going to do that," he replies. I hear a thud, and when he speaks his voice sounds different so he must be leaning his head against the door. "Katniss, if I thought for one second you really meant it... Is this about what I said yesterday?" When I stay silent, he keeps talking. "It's not like I have a death wish. I'm sorry I even said anything. I don't want you doing anything just because you think I want it. That would just make everything worse. I mean," he continues, getting fired back up again and sounding more and more irritated. "It's bad enough that all day every day in front of the cameras I have to use that small bit of my brain that isn’t busy being scared stupid reminding myself that you don't mean any of it, and then every night in your bed I lie there knowing it's just to calm you down when you have nightmares, that it’s back to life as usual when we’re off the train next week. I can't take it if you're going to go playing when we’re alone. If you ever ... if there ever comes a time when you actually feel like that, I want to be able to know what's real. I don't think that's too much to ask."  
  
There's a lot I could say to that, but as always my throat closes when I think about talking about feelings. I do unlock the door, though. In an instant he's through it, looking both frustrated and concerned, his eyes puzzled and his hair still mussed from sleep. I don't know what he sees in my expression, but it makes him step towards me. He takes my face in his hands and brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones. “What’s going on with you?” he asks, gazing deeply into my eyes. He curls his fingers slightly against the skin under my ear and for some reason the unfamiliar feeling makes me shiver and catch my breath. Slowly, giving me every chance to object, he leans down until his lips are hovering above mine until finally, with a last questioning look, he kisses me. It’s not like anything else we’ve shared, anywhere, and once he starts I find that no part of me wants him to stop. At first it’s soft and tender in a way that makes me sway towards him and grip his waist, needing something to hold onto. Then when he can tell I’m not moving away he deepens the kiss and I stop being able to think at all. I find myself opening my mouth under his, and when his tongue grazes my lower lip I make a sound that I would be embarrassed about if I could pry any attention at all away from the kiss. Finally he draws back and says “You still think I don’t want to kiss you?” I shake my head mutely. “So what’s going on?”

Exhausted tears spring to the back of my eyes, but I refuse to turn into a pathetic weepy girl on top of all the other ways I’ve managed to humiliate myself before I’ve even had time to get dressed today. Unable to bear his scrutiny I turn my face away, and I just wish he’d go away so I can go back to going through the motions instead of thinking about what I’m feeling. It’s only when he’s given up and turned to leave with a defeated sigh that I finally think of something to say. “On the last train-“ I start. Peeta freezes, his hand already on the door handle. I force myself to continue. “On the last train, I said I was confused about what I was feeling. I didn’t say I didn’t feel anything.” I pause, but Peeta doesn’t do anything to encourage me, just stands there facing away. Maybe he’s afraid if he startles me I’ll stop talking. “But then when we got home you disappeared, and I never had a chance to think about it. I was always just trying to get through the day. And now I’m finally getting to know you but it’s all in front of the Capitol, and the stakes are so high, and…”

This time when I stop Peeta turns around, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open in an almost comical look of surprise. “I thought you were letting me down easy. I thought when you said you were confused, you really meant that you just didn’t like me,” he says.

“When have I ever been the type of person to let someone down easy?” I demand.

“Huh,” is all Peeta says for a moment. He leans against the wall opposite me, his arms crossed across his chest, a contemplative look on his face. Finally he looks up. “Is that why you only kissed Gale the once?” I make an exasperated noise, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s just that I assumed you were together all this time.” After another pause, he shoots me an accusing look and says “I did live just next door. It’s not like you were breaking down the door to visit me.”

“I thought you were mad at me! And it’s not like you came to see me.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me! I thought I was just this burden that you’d rather ignore now that you’d saved my life.”

“Well you were wrong,” I tell him softly.

“So what’s you’re saying is, we’re both idiots,” he says. At my raised eyebrows he amends his statement. “But I'm the bigger idiot, obviously.”

“This doesn’t solve anything,” I say.

“No, but it’s cleared the air a bit, hasn’t it?” Peeta suggests. At my nod, he laughs a bit and says “I can’t believe the only really honest conversation we’ve ever had is first thing in the morning standing around in the bathroom. If we can do this, maybe we’re ready for marriage after all, what do you think?”

The question is clearly meant in a light-hearted way, so I reply in the same spirit. “Sure, all we have to do is figure out who does the cooking.”

After that, it’s clear we both need some individual time with our thoughts, and anyway it’ll be time to be prepped for our District 4 appearance, so Peeta heads back to his own room. For my part, I can’t stop playing that kiss over in my mind. I try to imagine going back to ignoring each other when we get home, and I decide I don’t like that at all. Things have definitely changed between us, but I still don’t know what to do about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final chapter before the weekend! I hope this works for you and that you're enjoying the story. Please comment! Katniss are both such complex characters, I'm really having a good time trying to get into their heads and hearts.

The rest of the morning is kind of peculiar. Once my appearance is deemed acceptable (apparently my slow start to the day didn’t allow any more than that) I head back to the lounge car to meet everyone else. Peeta is rocking between his heels and his toes, clearly jittery, while Haymitch glares at him. They both look up as soon as I enter the carriage, and a nervous, bashful smile crosses Peeta’s face that’s noticeably different to his usual casual greeting. Something about it makes me blush and drop my eyes. “Good morning, Katniss,” Peeta says.

“Good morning,” I murmur, approaching him. When I get to him I don’t know what to do or where to look, so I just reach up to his lapel as though there’s a speck of dust I need to brush off. One of his hands settles tentatively on my waist and I look up for a second, only to meet his earnest, hopeful gaze. Something inside me starts to panic at the tenderness in his eyes. I know the instant he sees it because the corner of his mouth quirks up a bit and he strokes my side with his thumb in a soothing manner.

“Easy there,” he says quietly, I think hoping not to be overheard by Haymitch. “Deep breath.” I narrow my eyes at him but do as he says. I also press on the hand still on his lapel, trying to feel the re-assuring, warm Peeta-ness of him. “Don’t forget, this is all about you.” For a second I don’t know what he means – I suppose most people would interpret his remark as being about the tour, the public appearances. But in light of our conversation this morning I think he’s re-assuring me that I don’t need to be afraid of him, that he’s never going to do anything I’ll be uncomfortable with. I nod.

“Like you didn’t just see each other an hour ago,” Haymitch grouses. He looks carefully at us. “Is there something going on with you two that I need to worry about?” he asks. It’s like steel shutters go down over Peeta’s eyes. He doesn’t move, but somehow his face smooths into that bland but charming mask we both rely on so much. For the first time, I realise how much I hate it. It’s also a marked contrast to the grumpy scowl I send at Haymitch.

“Absolutely not,” says Peeta. “Everything’s fine.”

“Well since you’re getting along so well, maybe you can give this one some smiling lessons then,” Haymitch replies. I put on my giddy-in-love smile and he rolls his eyes. At that point Effie sweeps into the carriage detailing the schedule, but I don’t pay attention. Between them, they’ll make sure I’m in the right places at the right times. She puts cards in my hands and I glance over the speech. Finally the time comes, and we head for the door. I feel more than hear Peeta take a deep breath. Looking up I see something dark and angry cross his face for just a split second, but then we’re out the door and he’s got his arm around me, and we’re smiling and waving and looking deep into each other’s empty eyes.

Somehow District 4 manages to be both easier and harder than the districts leading up to it. Something has relaxed between me and Peeta, and I find that whatever part of me that felt guilty about our act and was trying to spare his feelings is gone. On the other hand, now that I’m not worrying in the same way about my own behaviour I’m more aware that Peeta is performing just as much as me. That scares me, because if I can tell – who else can?

We get through the first round of handshakes with local officials. We give our speeches. The crowd stares resentfully at us. They’ve stopped giving us separate microphones, and instead we stand next to each other and talk into the same one, usually with Peeta’s arm wrapped around my waist. I lean into him and give him what I hope is a devoted smile.

Afterwards we go to a reception on a terrace that leads down to the beach. It’s beautiful, and I wish I could be there in different circumstances. But it seems like all I can see is people giving me sidelong glances. I see Finnick Odair, of all people, watching us closely. I try even harder than usual to channel the giddy girl who twirled for Caesar Flickerman in a sparkly, flaming dress. I think I try too hard, because Peeta’s jaw is starting to clench a bit. He breaks into my conversation with a fond and condescending laugh that would make me furious if he actually meant it. He’s been making smalltalk with the Mayor about the pleasant scenery for a while, so it comes across as natural and spontaneous when he says “I would love to take my girl for a walk along the water – any chance there’s five minutes’ give in the schedule so we can dip our feet in?” Effie looks aghast, but the Mayor seems inclined to be tolerant of young love and slaps Peeta on the back, assuring him that we have plenty of time. I’m already wearing sandals so they’re easy to kick off. Peeta has to actually go to the trouble to take off his shoes and socks and roll up his pant leg. I don’t think he likes showing his artificial leg off very much, so he must really want to go for a walk.

We head off alone on the sand hand in hand. When we’re far enough away that it would be almost impossible for anyone to overhear us he suddenly picks me up and spins me around. Playing along, I squeal like the young girl I never was and laugh, kicking my feet up. While his face is buried in my shoulder, he mutters “Ease up a bit, huh? You’re freaking me out.”

“We’re not convincing anyone. We have to try harder,” I mutter through teeth clenched under a blinding smile.

“You’re not helping. They’re just going to think you’re drunk,” he retorts.

“You think they’d mind?”

“Snow might,” he says sombrely, pulling back enough to look in my eyes. “Here, get up and I’ll give you a piggy back. It’ll look cute,” he suggests, “And you can explain to me what the hell you’re thinking.” Turning around, he bends over and I hop up onto his back. I lean my head against his on the ocean side, so hopefully no one will be able to see my face or tell what I’m saying. I know I can trust Peeta not to do anything to let on what I’m saying.

“I just don’t know what to do. I think they can tell when we’re acting and we only have a few more days until we get to the Capitol. The engagement will help, but I don’t think it’s enough, and Caesar Flickerman doesn’t want to announce it until we get there,” I say, talking quickly and quietly. I suddenly have an idea, and even though I hate it – and I know he’ll hate it – I push through and suggest it anyway. “This morning when you kissed me, it was different. We need to do that.”

“No,” is his immediate reply. “That wasn’t for them.”

“We have to. Whatever we’re feeling for each other, we have to put it out there for them – you know I hate this. You know that I don’t … I don’t do well with romance. But Peeta, I’m scared.”

He’s silent for a long time, but finally he just says “Part of the difference this morning is that for once you wanted to kiss me. You going to be able to hold up your end?”

“Yes,” I answer, hoping to sound confident. I’m not. I don’t even really know what I’m saying, only that Snow is going to need more from us, even if it means giving him our most private, inner selves. If it was just me, I would cling to my pride with everything I have. But it isn’t just me – and for Prim, there’s nothing I won’t do, nothing I won’t ask Peeta to do.

“Fine,” is all Peeta says, but he starts jogging back towards Haymitch, Effie and the Mayor. That’s the last chance we have to talk for a long time. After the reception we’re whisked off by our separate prep teams, and then Effie’s chattering away at us in that helpful way that means we don’t really need to speak to each other or anyone else. She’s talking up the dinner we can expect but I’m sure I won’t be able to eat. Faking feelings is one thing, but just starting to admit that I have them at all, while showing them off to the world all the same time is enough to take away anyone’s appetite. Peeta, too, is uncharacteristically quiet. Haymitch has apparently decided to just leave us to ourselves and is swaying drunkenly along in our wake. Just as we’re about to enter the ballroom Peeta stops abruptly, pulling me aside. Effie clicks her tongue, but lets us go.

“You’re sure…” he says, looking at me with the same earnest tenderness that frightened me this morning.

“I’m sure,” I say with a lot more certainty than I feel. “Don’t worry – just get through the next few days and we can sort ourselves out at home. It’ll be ok. At least now you know…” I trail off, because there’s no way I can finish that sentence without risking someone from District 4 overhearing us. What I want to say is, “you know that I don’t have to fake it all, that I do feel something, even if I’m not sure what it is.” What I do instead is kiss him. Tonight’s outfit has high-heeled shoes I can barely walk in, but the one advantage is that I don’t need to reach as far to get to Peeta’s lips. I do everything I can to empty my head of our surroundings and just think about him. Instead of worrying about strategy, I actually let myself think about the sensation of his lips on mine, of his firm torso under my hands. After a second he pulls me closer and opens his mouth, the brush of his tongue against mine making me moan involuntarily. I actually lose track of time until Peeta is wrenched away from me. Haymitch has him by the arm and is dragging him towards the door.

“Ok, kids, playtime is over,” he drawls. I’m still trying to catch my breath as Effie herds me forwards. I feel dazed and a bit distant from it all. I’m also hyper-sensitive to Peeta. As we enter he takes my hand, and I find that even if he just strokes my palm with his thumb it makes me shiver. I catch sight of the two of us in a mirrored panel on the wall, and am both shocked and relieved to see that the difference is clear. Our lips are swollen, and there’s almost a hint of a blush in our skin. Peeta’s arm is holding me lower on the hip than usual, keeping me pressed to his side. And me… there’s something dark in my eyes, something hungry, that I’ve never seen there before. Is this what was missing?

We spend the evening as we usually do, sometimes getting separated to talk to different people, but now when my eyes seek him out I admit to myself that it’s not just from worry – sometimes it’s just because I like to look at him. And when we dance I push myself closer in a brazen way that I would sneer at in anyone else – but I make myself pretend no one else is in the room, and I just look into his eyes and smile. Peeta, for his part, lets his face become less bland. He gives me the hopelessly smitten gaze I remember from the cave, and if it causes a little ball of guilt to form in my stomach, I avoid that too and just let myself enjoy his warm admiration.

Once, when he comes up behind me as I’m speaking to a former victor, he puts an arm around my waist and kisses me on the neck from behind. “Hey there,” he murmurs. “I missed you.” I let myself lean back against him and tilt my head up for a kiss, just because I want to. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggests.

We drift back out onto the terrace. Peeta puts his jacket around my shoulders and leads me to a railing that looks over the sand. “You doing ok?” he asks. I nod.

There’s no one around us and the waves are pretty loud, so I risk clarifying something with him.

“Explain something to me,” I say. “You love me.” This is a statement, not a question, but Peeta answers anyway.

“Yes.”

“So why… why have you been working so hard on the tour? Is it just because you were mad at me?” He actually chuckles a bit at this.

“I do love you, but give me some credit. There’s nothing romantic about holding you when you’re terrified. There’s nothing romantic about kissing you when you don’t want to be kissing me back. And when we’re out there facing the tributes’ families…” he trails off, but he doesn’t have to continue. I know what it’s like when we’re on stage in front of the districts. “Besides, I wanted…”

“What?”

“After the first games, if anything every happened between us I wanted it to be just for us, away from the cameras. So I could know it was real.” I knock my shoulder against his.

“Until I screwed that up too,” I point out.

“Until you did. But then, there’s some compensations to this plan. On the one hand, I’m selling my soul, but on the other hand, you’re seriously considering actually being involved with me for real, so I’m still going to count today a win. You’re right, I can’t be precious about my feelings when there’s so much at stake.”

It’s times like this that I really see how Peeta could be the one for me – he’s got so much to resent me for, but his clear thinking, compassion and optimism just take my breath away. I can’t imagine getting through this with anyone else at my side.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4! It's been a busy week but I'm home with a cold so it seemed like a good chance to post some fic. This chapter's a little shorter than some of the others, but I hope you like it anyway! Very many thanks to everyone who's commented, it's extremely gratifying!

Peeta and I split up when we get back on the train, going to our separate rooms - we don't say anything about it, but we both need some space. I'm not at all tired, though, and after awhile my room starts to feel kind of suffocating so I wander back along the train, just for a change of scene. I wasn't looking for company, but I stop when I see Peeta sitting alone in the lounge car with his sketchbook.

"What're you drawing?" I ask. He starts dramatically. It would probably be funny if I couldn't see the panic flash across his face before he realises it's just me. He shrugs.

"Just doodling," he says, closing the book.

"Can I see?" I ask. He hesitates for a moment before he gestures to the couch cushion next to him. I sit down, tucking my feet under me and looking over his shoulder. Peeta smiles. "What?" I ask a little defensively.

"Nothing, it's just - it's cute, the way you curl up like that. Like a little animal in its den." I consider taking offence, but it just seems so unlikely that he thinks I'm "cute" of all things - it seems harmless and charming, which I never am. I take a second to wrap my head around being cute. And anyway, he's got that adoring smile on his face again that I'm almost starting to get used to. In fact tonight, after those dizzying kisses earlier, tucking myself neatly against his warmth and looking at him in the mellow light of the lamps, I think I almost ... like it.

"So show me," I say, changing the subject. Again he hesitates, and then he just hands me the sketchbook. As soon as I open to the page he'd been working on I can see why he was a bit embarrassed. There's nothing wrong with any of the drawings, it's just that they're all of me. In fact, they're all of me today. They're quick pencil sketches, but in a few lines he's shown me with more expressions and emotions than I knew I was capable of. There's an almost frightening one of me with a huge smile on my face and wide, artificially bright eyes. This must have been just before he pulled me aside on the beach. There's one where I have a smile on my lips but sad eyes, and I think this must have been when we had to address the tributes' families. There's a few others, but it's the one at the bottom of the page that catches my eye. It's like the look I saw on my own face in the mirror this evening. My eyes are wide and needy, my mouth slightly open. I look... sexy, I find myself thinking - another word I've never applied to myself before. I look like I want him. Is this really what I looked like after he kissed me? I remember the rush of heat I could feel through my whole body, the way my palms almost itched to touch him, and I think it must be.

I can tell I've been looking at it too long when Peeta shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. "The whole book isn't you," he says. "It was just... it was just kind of an odd day and I was trying to... process. Trying to figure you out, I guess," he adds sheepishly. I don't know what to say, and I still don't know what to think about the way I now know I can react to Peeta, so I stay silent. He reaches over and turns back the page, encouraging me to move past the confusing images of my own face. There's a few landscapes, sketches of boats in the harbour. There's pictures of Effie and Haymitch, and I'm kind of relieved I'm not the only one he's drawing. But he's also drawn other things. There's pictures of bony children with terrified eyes. There's pictures of crowds of people looking out at us, condemning us for being fortunate while their children died. There's studies of particular faces that I never noticed, but must have caught Peeta's eye - strong faces that stare resentfully out at us from the page.

I turn to look again at Peeta. His face is troubled, not turned to me but looking at his own sketches with a critical eye. Yet again, he's managed to take my breath away. Because he might be nice, and he might be easy going and know how to talk to Capitolites so they're eating out of his hand, but he's not a fool. He doesn't get angry and lash out, like Gale does. He doesn't have a chip on his shoulder for how the world has treated him. His anger comes from a place inside him that's good, and pure - a place that looks straight at injustice and refuses to flinch away. He looks at it and refuses to let it change him. So even when he's playing the Capitol game - even as he's charming them and making them like him - there's something strange and subversive about it - something that refuses to quite play by their rules, even if they don't know it.

I think about Gale ranting in the woods, and I feel guilty, but not like I ususally do, like I'm cheating on Gale by being romantic with Peeta. Because I'm starting to see that the difference between them isn't just that Gale is from the Seam, a survivor like me. It's something deeper. And for the first time I see that while Gale's anger makes me afraid, Peeta's makes me feel strong.

Peeta finally looks up and seems surprised to see him staring at him. He barely opens his mouth to say something before my lips are on his, kissing him with a fervour I didn't even know I could feel. He makes a noise at the back of this throat, and he pulls away to take a quick breath but then I kiss him again, one hand on his jaw to keep him close. He doesn't resist. In fact he leans into the kiss, opening his mouth to brush my tongue was his in a way that makes me moan. He pulls me closer, his hands running up and down my back and sides. With some surprise, I realise that if he tried to touch my chest I would welcome it, but he doesn't. He just keeps up those fervent, drugging kisses until my whole body is buzzing, pressing as close to him as I can. It's not until we finally ease up, panting for breath and still brushing our lips together as though we have to wean ourselves away instead of stopping outright, that I realise we're lying prone on the couch. The spine of the sketchbook is digging into my back. Something about registering that detail makes me flush in embarrassment. Peeta immediately runs his fingers down my cheek, catching my eyes and saying "Hey, it's ok. There's nothing embarrassing about this. It's what people who like each other do."

"I know," I said. And I do. I just never thought I'd like anyone like this.

"You going to tell me what I did to deserve that?" he teases gently. This question I can answer.

"Nothing. You were just you," I say honestly. Apparently it's the right thing to say because his eyes shine and he gives me another kiss but this one is tender, and gentle, and grateful. When he pulls away I think I see a tear in the corner of his eye. I smirk a bit. "You're not going to cry, are you?"

"Maybe a bit," he admits. "We both know I'm the sappy one of the two of us. Do you mind?"

"Not a bit," I reply. And I don't mind. I've come to realise that it's not weak, the way he lets himself feel things so strongly. It's brave. We lie there for awhile, wrapped up in each other's arms. I finally feel relaxed enough to sleep so I stir and sit up. "It's late, we should go to bed," I say. I intend it to be matter-of-fact, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I blush again. Those words could mean something quite different after what we've just been doing. "I mean..." I start, but I stutter to a stop, too embarrassed to even admit what I was just thinking. Peeta sits up too and takes my hand. He looks at me earnestly.

"Katniss, I know what you meant. But the fact you even thought ... the other thing... maybe we need some rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. Like safe spaces. Because we're too dependent on each other this trip to complicate things too much. So - how 'bout we agree right now, that even if we keep up the kissing and things are ... are heating up a bit, we agree that on the train no one's going to try taking anything further than we already have." I try to keep my face blank but I know it's bright tomato red. I know what he means, of course I do. But I have never thought about doing anything like that ... with anyone. I try to decide how I feel about the fact that he has probably thought about it. My brain kind of skitters away from the thought, but the hunger I can feel growing inside means that my body certainly thinks it's worth considering. "Not that you would!" Peeta hastens to assure me. "I just mean, you don't have to worry about me trying anything. You don't need to be afraid of me. At all. Ever." I nod, acknowledging his sensitivity even as I'm so uncomfortable with this conversation that most of my brain is busy trying to pretend it's not happening. "But the other thing is that given the way we need each other a night," ... and it's hard not to put a different spin on that too, given the context, but the earnestness of his voice proves to me that he doesn't intend any innuendo, "bedtime can be a romance-free zone. That way if you decide you're not comfortable with this, with me, you don't have to worry about facing the nights alone."

I'm silent for a long time while I force myself to see the sense in what he's saying. I think it's so difficult because by coming up with rules for our relationship, I'm forced to admit consciously to myself that there is a relationship. A real one. And that the reason we need them is because I'm not totally in control of myself here - I'm feeling things, real things, that I didn't know I could. I want to run away, to go back before I knew what this felt like. But I also don't. Because I can't imagine now how it will ever be possible to look at him and not see him in that way that made my heart pound tonight, that made me crave him. And as much as I'm uncomfortable, I'm also grateful in a way that he's able to see what it is that I'm afraid of, that he's able to say the things I can't bring myself to say. In the end I just nod. We make our way back to my cabin and crawl to bed just like always, without saying a word. Maybe it should be awkward, but instead I just find myself relaxing into him with relief. When he wraps his arms around me and kisses my head, in that moment I'm actually... happy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! They made me want to make sure I had another chapter up this week. This is kind of a peculiar chapter but I'm still polishing up the Capitol bit while this felt ready so I thought I'd go ahead and put it up. Next: The Capitol and The Engagement!

We pretty much keep up the same pattern the next few days as we approach the Capitol. During the day, I try hard to let loose and let myself feel for Peeta all the things I’ve been trying to ignore. After the first push, it’s surprisingly easy. I knew even in the cave in the first games that I felt _something_ for Peeta, I just wasn’t prepared to analyse it. To be honest, I’m not giving myself a lot of time to think about it now, either. I’m just going with the flow. Even I will admit, though, that there is a certain relief now that I’m not fighting so hard against it.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, we try to have fun with each other throughout our public appearances. We keep up the habit of making snarky jokes while we pretend to whisper in each other’s ears, partly as a stress outlet and partly because while it looks good neither of us is really a sweet nothings kind of person. One interest we find in common is food. We both like to try everything available in each district, and we debate how we could make them in District 12.

It’s the Career districts that are the hardest. It was hard performing in front of the outer districts, but at least I understood their attitudes. It’s when we are held up as objects of admiration by the crowds, when there’s small children who say they want to volunteer just like I did, that I find I have to put my fake smile back on while my stomach turns. I see Peeta’s Capitol face make an appearance again, too. Still, it is better now that we really have each other’s backs.

After we’ve had to face Cato’s parents in District 2 Peeta pulls me aside down a hallway, clearly looking for a corner to escape to. In earlier districts, we did this so that people would think we were having romantic interludes, and as he’s pulling me by the hand along a quiet hallway I suddenly wonder what that means now that we really are romantically involved – is he pulling me away for some sneaky kissing for real? I can’t decide how I feel about that. True to his word, the previous night on the train we hadn’t done anything more than we had before, but I did find that it was more difficult than before to pull myself away from his lips to go to sleep, and I had to go into the bathroom to splash water on my face and take a few deep breaths before I could climb in bed with him. In public I’ve been much more physically affectionate with him, and have been surprised to find that I actually like it. After the pretending we’ve been doing, it feels kind of like having a delicious secret to sneak in real caresses and smiles in the middle of the show we’re putting on for the Capitol.

Finding an unlocked door to an empty room, Peeta pulls me through it. I’m half prepared for him to pull me close and smother me in kisses, but all he does is lean his head against the door and sigh. He stands there with his eyes closed for a minute, clearly relishing the quiet. He looks like he could use some comfort, so I take his hand and lean my head on his shoulder. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just needed a minute. They were just so mad at us, so indignant we’d won...” he trails off. I know what he means. Faced with row on row of formidable fighters it seems such a fluke that we won, and even if our supposed fighting prowess was admired in general, Clove and Cato’s families had glared at us through our whole speeches.

“I know” I say. I stand awkwardly for a minute, before I realise that there isn’t really anything I can’t say to Peeta, so I continue. “I thought for a minute you were pulling me in here to keep up the show. You know, for…” I lose courage though before I say what I thought he was pulling me in here for. There’s a moment of silence before Peeta tilts my face up so he can see it. He has an intrigued look on his face.

“Just for the record,” he says, “If that is what I took you aside for, would you mind?” I can’t quite bring myself either to confirm or deny, so I just blush and shrug one shoulder noncommittally. He looks at me for a few seconds before he teases “Katniss, I’m going to kiss you now, ok?” A smile spreads across my face but I try to play it cool and shrug. He chuckles a bit, and then he lowers his lips to mine and it’s just what I wanted. He takes his time, giving me smooth, deep kisses that run into each other. I feel my back hit the wall and realise he must have turned us around so that he can lean against the wall with a hand above my shoulder while the other rests at my waist to pull me close to him. I grab his lapels to yank his mouth more firmly to me and he gives a wordless murmur of approval. As always, time dies away as we kiss. I never used to understand what the big deal was about kissing, what made otherwise sensible girls go foolish and giddy and made people want to sneak away to the slag heap and ignore their responsibilities – but I do now. I like to think I’m a reasonably sensible person but even I can’t ignore the giddy swoop my stomach gives now when I see Peeta, the shiver I feel when he touches me, or the desperate yearning I sometimes get for his kisses.

Too soon there’s a knock on the door and Haymitch is pulling us back to the gathering, grumbling the whole time under his breath about how he liked it better when we were barely talking. I ignore him, too busy exchanging bashful smiles with Peeta and making him catch his already short breath by running a fingernail along his palm. There’s a dark hunger in his eyes that makes me both exhilarated and afraid, especially since I know I feel it as well. As with so many things, I decide not to worry about it until we’re home.

In the evenings we work on our real relationship. After splitting up for a little while to give each other space we meet in the lounge car. We do a lot more kissing, of course, but we also talk. I’ve never considered myself a very chatty person so I didn’t think we could spend a lot of time talking, but I find I’m wrong. Peeta is a very easy person to talk to. He’s willing to fill spaces when I don’t know what to say. He also never makes me feel awkward or silly, no matter what I’m talking about. He seems to genuinely be interested. I find I’m opening up to him more than I thought I could, even saying things I wouldn’t say to Gale. Gale, of course, is the only thing we don’t talk about. I think Peeta knows that I haven’t really resolved anything to do with Gale in my mind or my heart. There’s a certain recklessness in his eyes sometimes when he kisses me that makes me think he feels as though he’s throwing his heart into the ring again despite the risk it will be trampled as soon as we’re home. The trouble is, I’m not completely certain yet that he’s wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter this time! I hope my re-write of the Capitol party works. Some of the same things in the book needed to happen, but they aren't really my focus so I skimmed past them a bit. This may be my last chapter before the Christmas holidays - the beginning of their time in District 12 is going to be kind of heavy and they're going to have to deal with Gale so I may wait and tackle it in the New Year. Please comment if you're enjoying!

When we get to the Capitol I’m not sure what to expect, but in the end we’re scheduled down to the second and we’re immediately whisked off to the television studio for Peeta’s proposal. Peeta’s words are simple and to the heart, and I know they’re not quite what he would say if he were proposing for real, but I do know he means them. I try to imagine that it’s all real, and I find myself actually tearing up. No matter what Snow does or says, in that moment I can’t find it in me to be sad or angry that I get to keep this wonderful boy – man, even - to myself, that I’ll always have him by my side to help navigate the dangers of a victor’s world. I agree, and when he stands up I try to squeeze him tightly enough to show him how grateful I am for him, to show him that we’re together in all of this. When he takes a shaky breath I know he’s understood.

Snow makes a ‘spontaneous’ appearance at the studio to congratulate us. He gives us a considering look as he shakes our hands, taking in our flushed and tearful faces. When the cameras are off and he’s about to leave, he leans in and says to me quietly “Good effort, Miss Everdeen. I’m almost convinced. Keep working on it.”

All the joy I’d just felt melts away. I suspect we were never going to convince him. But what does this stay of execution mean for us? For the district? I don’t know what to do except keep doing what we’re doing throughout all the coverage I assume there will be of wedding preparations. It’s a discouraging result after everything of myself I’ve put into the tour.

I’m quiet as we are shuttled off to be dressed for the ball. Cinna puts me in this slinky dress that makes me uncomfortable. I raise my eyebrows, but he just shrugs apologetically. “It’s a Capitol ball. I had to put you in something appropriate.” I don’t know what he would say if he didn’t think we were being listened to, but he clearly thinks we are so I don’t push him on it.

Predictably, it’s Peeta who pulls me out of my funk. When I come out of my room to meet him, I have a second to look at him before he notices me. He’s in a suit as usual, his hair slicked back. He looks very handsome, but honestly I think I prefer it when he looks normal and his hair is just left to curl over his forehead. When he turns to see me he stops short and his jaw literally drops. I actually start giggling before I see the look in his eyes. No one’s ever looked at me quite like that before - like I’m not a pretty girl but a desirable woman. It’s terrifying. It’s also exhilarating. “Ready?” I ask, and my voice comes out lower than usual as I fight past the sudden tightness in my chest.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. Apparently for once he can’t think of anything else to say because he just offers an elbow for me to stick my hand through.

Peeta’s a little quieter than usual at the party, I think partly because he sort of freezes up any time he looks too closely at me. I take my turn to do the socialising, taking the congratulations on our engagement from the ridiculously dressed Capitol party guests. Finally I drag him over to the dessert table to look at the cakes, and he’s himself again once he starts talking technique with the chefs.

I dance with people Effie introduces me to, trying hard not to shrink too visibly away from their leering. The one refreshing note is meeting Plutarch Heavensbee, who is odd in his own way but at least treats me normally. He makes a big thing of showing me his Mockingjay pocket watch – apparently my little pin is all the rage in the Capitol now. When he leaves me on the dance floor I immediately look for Peeta, desperate for someone familiar. I see him scanning the room looking for me, which is convenient. He’s got his Capitol smile on again, so I figured something must have happened. As soon as he reaches me he grabs my hand and pulls me into the middle of the dance floor where we’re surrounded by people too absorbed in their own conversations to hear what we say. I put my right hand on Peeta’s shoulder and my left on his back like Effie taught me, but thankfully with the music playing right now we’re just required to kind of sway back and forth.

“What happened?” I murmur. Peeta clenches his jaw for a second and has to forcibly amp up his smile again.

“Do you know what those little glasses of clear liquid are for?” he asks fake-casually.

“Um – drinking?” I guess.

“When you’re full, you drink one, and it makes you throw up. So you can keep eating.” Peeta can keep his face looking pleasant and disinterested but there’s a bleakness to his tone that chills me. I can’t help but gasp in horror. Peeta keeps talking. “People are starving out there. In twelve, in eleven… and here they…” he trails off, leaving me to think about the level of decadence those little glasses represent. A wave of rage against Snow, against the Capitol, against everyone in the room laughing and dancing and eating, rolls through me. In that moment I hate them all. I feel the tension in Peeta’s arms and shoulders and I know that even though he’s never starved as I have, Peeta hates them too. I risk a glance up and we exchange a long look of shared contempt. I’m the one who looks away first.

“We can’t do this here,” I mutter, making myself smile.

“I know,” he admits. “I’m sorry.” I squeeze his hand.

“Don’t be.” We can’t leave the party yet, and I know we have to do something to make ourselves play the part again, but I don’t know what. “We have to talk about something else. Tell me something nice.” It’s a foolish request, and it takes even Peeta a moment to change his mood so abruptly. He knows I’m right, though, so he takes a big breath and leans his head on mine for a moment, nuzzling into my hair. Finally he thinks of something.

“Ok, I’ve got one – you should know that I have a new plan.” This time his voice is light and teasing. I mock glare at him.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to make plans anymore.”

“This is a good one!” he insists, smiling for real now. “I promise.”

“Ok….” I say leadingly.

“When we get home I’m going to court you,” he says, all smug smiles.

“Um – in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already engaged. It’s a bit late,” I point out. Peeta rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean. For real.” The idea intrigues me.

“Go on,” I suggest.

“Well, you were right that you’ve been thrown in the deep end here. So when we get home, I’m going to court you. For real, like I would have if I hadn’t been such a chicken. That way you can kind of… try out your feelings. See how you like it if we’re really together. And if you do like it then that’s great. But if you don’t, you can just say so and we’ll find some way to proceed where we’re just friends.”

He’s being charming and persuasive, and I’m genuinely touched by his suggestion. I do need space. I’m starting to think I could love him, that I might come to whether I want to or not. But that terrifies me. He’s right, I need to get used to the idea of being with someone, to see whether I can do it without being afraid all the time. He knows by now that I was never looking for romance, but since we’re bound to each other for the rest of our lives anyway, he’s just asking me to consider making it a real partnership. And now that he’s shown me how easy it is to be with him, I find that most of me wants to give it a try. With anyone else but Peeta I’d be even more afraid: afraid of giving them the wrong idea, of what could happen if it goes wrong - but the way he’s so attentive to what I want, to what I need, the way he’s watchful of my moods, the way he’s so good at making me feel like he’s first and foremost a friend, makes me think that maybe this time I can be brave.

“So what would this courting consist of,” I ask, feeling both bold and nervous at the same time. I think I almost pull off coy for once.

“Well, I would come by your house in the evenings, and sit properly and respectably with you and your mother and Prim, of course,” he says with a bit of mock prudishness. “I could bring cheesebuns, and cupcakes, and flowers for your mother…” I laugh.

“You almost had me at ‘cheesebuns’,” I say. “But keep going.”

“Well, we just spend time together. I could help your mother make dinner, I could help Prim with her homework, we can all sit around by the fire…” There’s a wistfulness in his voice, and I wonder whether he daydreamed about this when he was all alone in his house in Victor’s Village. The thought makes my heart ache a bit. When he speaks again his voice is a little more husky and insinuating. “And maybe once in a while you could see me to the door, and if you wanted to, maybe we could kiss on the porch before I go home,” he says, giving me a small kiss on my neck that makes me shiver. “And once in a while, if your mother agrees, you could come over to my house, or we could go on a picnic, and if you felt like it you could kiss me then, too…” he follows this suggestion up with an all-too-short kiss on my lips that makes me sway into him. “But only if you feel like it,” he finishes primly, resuming the proper dancing frame that Effie drilled into us. I can’t help but laugh. “So?” he asks, and he’s put a little bit of his Capital mask up again to hide how nervous he is at how I’m going to react.

The whole thing is so Peeta, so gentle, the whole suggestion designed to make me feel safe and in control, that I don’t even really want to say no. I don’t believe that it’ll be a matter of fact agreement to go back to being just friends if I decide I can’t handle the romance thing – but I wonder whether it hasn’t already gone too far already. I’m so attuned to him now, so dependent on him, that it’s going to be messy anyway. I’m still afraid of a lot of things – not least of the prospect of a more physical relationship, of children – but he knows about those fears, and anyway this isn’t the time or the place to discuss it. The whole idea is infused with Peeta’s purity of spirit, his refusal to let the Capitol taint his character or what he feels for me. He’s playing their game – but he’s going to make sure it’s in his own way.

Being me, though, I don’t really know how to say this to him. So instead I just kiss him. For someone who pointedly avoided kissing at all until recently I’m learning quickly that there’s a language to kisses, which is useful for someone like me who doesn’t like talking about emotions. This one is a kiss of gratitude, a kiss of fondness. A kiss that says yes – maybe not yes to forever, but certainly yes to trying. I think Peeta understands. After a moment he pulls back, blushing a bit, eyes shining, murmuring “Maybe we shouldn’t be getting too carried away in the middle of the room like this.” It seems strange to have scruples about being watched at this point, but I kind of know what he means. He’s managed to turn an awful party into a moment that’s precious, that’s tender – that belongs just to the two of us. But there’s something about the way he’s brave with his heart that makes me feel brave too.

“Look at how absurd they are,” I whisper. “Everything about them is fake. Let them see what something real looks like.” This time he responds fervently, and I thrill to the knowledge that this is my choice - that Snow can try to use this relationship, to twist it and make me resent it, but that he hasn’t succeeded in polluting either me or Peeta. That Peeta won’t let him and will do anything to prevent himself from being used to make me be or do anything I don’t want.

What I don’t take into account, though, is what my dress is capable of doing to Peeta. When he moves his hands round to my back, I think he’d forgotten he was going to meet flesh instead of fabric, because he makes a kind of helpless noise at the back of his throat and runs his hands along my exposed skin in a way that sends a rush of what even I recognise as desire to sear through my body. One of his hands ends up low on my back, the tip of one baby finger just sipping under the fabric of the dress and the other splays across my shoulder blades. I can’t even hear the party any more, just the rush of blood in my ears. I pull myself free when I realise my lungs are bursting and Peeta and I stare at each other, panting and wide-eyed for a moment before we both blush scarlet, realising how carried away we got in full view of any number of cameras. He buries his face in my hair to speak into my ear.

“Should I be apologising?” he asks uncertainly. Part of me wants to say yes, to deflect blame on him, but I don’t want to be dishonest with Peeta anymore.

“No,” I say sheepishly. “It was both of us. I just can’t believe my mother saw that.” And Gale, I think to myself. But I don’t say it because Gale has no place here. Peeta starts to snicker.

“I might not be allowed in the house then, cheesebuns or no,” he jokes.

“You’ll probably just have to make sure you sit way on the other side of the room from me for a while,” I respond in kind. We make our way off the dance floor, ignoring the giggles and gossip all around. Unsurprisingly, Effie is waiting for us ready to reprimand us for our impropriety. Thankfully it’s almost time to go, so we just listen with half an ear while she lectures us. Peeta makes some humble and apologetic comments that placate her, then winks at me as soon as she has her back turned. Haymitch just glares suspiciously at me.

When we get back on the train, Peeta holds me back until everyone else has dispersed. “You’re going change out of all that, right? Before we hang out again?” I look at him, puzzled.

“Why, do you want me to keep it on?” I snark.

“No,” is his immediate reply. I’m surprised by his vehemence.

“I thought maybe you liked me better like this,” I venture. Peeta blushes a bit but makes himself answer.

“I’m not going to lie, tonight you’re… well, you’re hot. But the dress, the makeup, the hair… that’s all them. It’s like they dressed you up as a sacrifice for me. I prefer the real you, the one in modest pajamas and your hair in a braid who comes to see me by choice,” he says softly. “Besides…” he hesitates before he speaks again. “That dress… it makes me think things I shouldn’t,” he admits. “Things neither one of us are ready for.” He looks me seriously in the eyes when he speaks. I gulp. I’m again struck by that peculiar feeling, the one that mostly wants the whole topic to go away but is kind of grateful that he’s willing to face it head on, to say the things I can’t. “I want the real Katniss,” he whispers. “The one who’d never even kissed anyone til a few months ago, who might still decide she doesn’t even want to kiss me. Not the one all those assholes with purple hair were lusting after.” His last comment makes me snort with laughter. I’m again struck by how easy Peeta makes even the things that scare me the most. How much I can trust him.

Later that night we’re a bit cautious and restrained at first. And when we eventually reach for each other, if he kisses me a little more fervently than usual and lets one of his hands slip under my shirt to rest on the small of my back, I don’t say anything about it. And if I can’t help but arch my hips a bit against his thigh, he doesn’t say anything about it. But it’s soon after that that we part by mutual agreement. We sit at opposite sides of the couch and talk about safe things until we feel like ourselves again. We trade stories on our teachers and classmates, treading carefully to stay on safe and familiar topics until when I look at him I see the boy with the bread, and when he looks at me he sees the girl who used to wear her hair in two braids instead of one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter before the new year! I think this leaves Katniss and Peeta in a relatively nice place for the holidays. Please comment if you agree! Comments are the best Christmas presents.
> 
> Total non-sequitur: I saw Bridge of Spies the other day. Am I the only one who thinks the two pilots in it look a lot like Peeta and Gale??

That night I sleep better than I have in years. I don’t know whether it’s the relief of going home, or knowing that even if he is watching us, soon Snow at least won’t have public appearances to critique, or just the comfort I get from whatever it is that I have with Peeta, but for once I don’t wake up screaming. I do start awake in the early hours of the morning, but this time I don’t remember my dream. Instead I just have a pit of guilt in my stomach. My waking flinch half wakes Peeta, and he opens one eye as he asks whether I’m ok. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Go back to sleep.” He gives me a sleepy squeeze and I think is unconscious again immediately.

There’s a lot of things I could be feeling guilty for: putting my friends and family in danger, launching into this relationship with Peeta before I’d really thought it through… but what my mind settles on is Gale. Because if my feelings for Peeta are unclear, I can’t untangle what I wanted with Gale, either. If he had spoken up, would I have responded? No. I was never interested in romance. If I weren’t with Peeta, would I want to be with Gale now? I don’t know. I’ve never seriously entertained it as an option. Can I imagine a future with him? I think I can, is the trouble – only if I do, it’s the future I might have had if I hadn’t gone into the Games. I just can’t picture Gale living in my new house in Victor’s Village, though. He’s too proud to take what he would see as the charity of the Capitol. I don’t know whether he’d be willing to live off his wife. And what would he do all day? He wouldn’t have to work, after all, if he was with me. I wonder, too, how it would feel to have to face him year after year when I came back from the Capitol, where presumably he’d have to see me on screen with Peeta for weeks at a time. I wonder whether he’d judge my ability to save or, more likely, not to save my tributes.

Can I picture a future with Peeta? That’s easy. I imagine Peeta is incredibly easy to live with. I can’t imagine any trial in life he wouldn’t be helpful and supportive for. I can’t imagine him not getting on with Prim. It would be a comfort to have him around. And as for the rest… well, I can’t deny I like it. If there’s anyone who gives me courage to explore other aspects of a relationship, it’s him. Also, Peeta is able to be involved in every part of my life. He’ll be with me in the Capitol as well as District 12. He knows how the Games work enough that he won’t judge what we’ll have to do year after year. It’s a cold assessment of a relationship that is anything but chilled, but as we race towards home I feel the need to pause and be rational, not least because I know that quite soon I’ll have to confront Gale. I’ll have to break his heart. Because I honestly don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t volunteered, but I know I can’t be with him now.

I pretend to be asleep when Peeta gets up for breakfast. When he’s gone, I sit on my bed and just think, trying to figure out how I can explain the way my life is going without losing Gale’s friendship. My prep team comes and dresses me, but when they leave I just curl up at the end of the bed, preparing myself.

Eventually there’s a knock on the door and Peeta comes in, looking worried. When he sees my sombre face he stops short, sighs, and then sits on the edge of my bed and stares at the floor. “This is feeling kind of familiar,” he says. I can’t help but notice that he looks worried and won’t meet my eye.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “The next few days will be confusing. I’ll have to deal with… with some stuff” I finish lamely. I refuse to say Gale’s name on the train with all the listening devices.

“Right,” Peeta responds, sounding defeated. I don’t know what to say to make him feel better that I know for sure is true. After a minute of silence he stands up. “I’ll leave you be,” is all he says. He’s almost at the door when I speak up.

“Peeta, the plan – the second plan. The good one.” He turns back and gives me a questioning look. “Do that. Please. I don’t know what I’ll be like at home, but remember that the last few days have been real, ok? You know it and I know it. And… follow the plan. Don’t just give up on me again.” As I speak Peeta walks towards me and finally kneels next to the bed and takes my hand. He still doesn’t look happy, but he’s starting to look a little hopeful.

“OK,” he says. “I will. I won’t shut you out.” I nod.

“Good.”

I don’t want it to look like we’re fighting – I don’t want to _be_ fighting – so I lean over and give him a soothing, tender kiss. His hand comes up to cup my jaw. As he kisses me back I feel my heart swell, and in that moment I can’t imagine not having him with me all the time, so we can do this whenever we want. As we break apart we lean our foreheads together and just listen to each other breathe for a few minutes. I don’t think it’s a very good idea for us to be by ourselves today, stewing in our own nerves, so we go out and I listen in while Peeta chats idly with Effie and eventually Haymitch. I know that Haymitch, Peeta and I are at some point going to have to have a serious conversation about Snow and what the trip did and didn’t accomplish, but that can wait until we’re back.

It’s late afternoon when we get into 12. There are lots of people gathered at the station to greet us again, since today and tomorrow are holidays in honour of our victory. Front and centre are my mother and Prim, and Peeta’s parents and brothers. First we go to my family, and I give them both hugs and Peeta makes a show of formally asking my mother’s blessing, even though he knows I don’t care what she thinks. She agrees – what else can she do? Then he ushers me over to his family and gives a little speech about how he hopes they’ll make me feel welcome, and I say a few words about how wonderful Peeta is and how thankful I am that they brought up such a wonderful man and that I can’t wait to be married to him. Effie wrote the speech, obviously. I look at his parents and the whole thing feels fake again – I mean what I say about Peeta being wonderful, but I can’t help but think that it was despite his mother’s influence rather than because of it. Still, his father and brothers look happy for Peeta. One of them elbows him and says something in his ear that makes him blush scarlet and shrug his brother away, and the show of brotherly affection makes me smile. He catches my eye and grins at me when he looks up in a way that makes us feel real again.

We have to go to the Justice Palace next to stand around while the Mayor says a few words in our honour, and then it’s time for the party. I’m not usually one for celebrating, but it’s such a relief to be home, and this is all so familiar and relaxed compared to the Capitol and most of the Districts that Peeta and I both manage to actually relax and enjoy ourselves. We’re mostly seated with merchants for dinner, but Madge is seated near us so I can talk to her, and Peeta includes me in any conversations he has with people I don’t know. Once we’ve finished actually eating he slings an arm over the back of his chair so he can reach over and rub a thumb between my shoulder blades, soothing the tension he knows has been building from so much socialising. I absentmindedly reach over and rest my hand on his thigh, just because I find the contact reassuring by now. I see Madge eye the gesture with a glint in her eye. “So, things with Peeta seem to be… prospering,” she insinuates. I blush, which I’m sure confirms all her suspicions.

“It’s going well,” I admit. It feels odd to talk about him with someone else, but this is Madge, my only female friend. I go as far as to say “We’re very lucky to have each other.”

I have one glass of wine, just enough to relax me a bit. Looking around, I notice that Gale isn’t around. My main reaction is relief. I want to enjoy a few more moments of being with Peeta before I have to defend myself to Gale. The dancing starts up soon after that. Peeta and I stay seated at first, pleading fatigue, but when he notices me tapping my toe to a catchy number the Mayor asks me to dance. I agree gladly, and we have a grand time skipping around the dance floor. He’s a nice man, pleasant to talk to, and he seems to be genuinely happy for me and Peeta. Peeta meets us at the edge of the dance floor and we dance a few numbers, ending in a slow waltz . We’ve done this lots of times before, but it feels different to do it surrounded by people we know. Every look and touch feels more revealing. I find myself a bit shy, reluctant to step as close to Peeta or kiss him as often as I would have when we were among strangers. Early on in the waltz Peeta brings his lips to mine, and I indulge him (and myself) for a moment but I break the kiss before he can deepen it. “You alright?” he asks warily.

“Of course,” I reply. “But my mother’s right there. And Prim. And Greasy Sae, and Rooba, and our first grade teacher, and _everyone we know_ ,” I finish repressively. Peeta actually starts to snicker.

“Seriously? We’re out on display for the whole of Panem all week and it’s the grade one teacher that’s the last straw?” Clearly he thinks my prudishness is both hilarious and adorable, by the look he’s giving me, which is just as well because it’s probably not going anywhere any time soon. I roll my eyes at his amusement and heave a sigh, but to be honest when he’s this happy he makes my heart soft enough that I don’t protest when he goes in for another kiss. He considerately keeps it very tame. When the song ends I look around, and I see that actually the party is kind of winding down. My mother and Prim are gone, as are the Mayor and Madge. Some of the merchant kids are gathering around the edge of the lit square with semi-concealed bottles of white liquor, but Peeta doesn’t seem inclined to join them. Best of all, I can’t see anyone at all who has anything to do with the Capitol.

“Do you think anyone would notice if we slip away and go home?” I ask. Peeta casts a considering look around us.

“No, I think we’re in the clear,” he answers. “Walk you back?” I nod. For the first time I realise that as glad as I am to be home, I am not looking forward to having to go to bed by myself. I wonder what I will do tonight if I have nightmares.

It’s a clear, wintery evening, and we meander slowly out of town. When I shiver a bit he wraps an arm around my shoulders and I wrap one around his waist. The tune of that last waltz, an old traditional song, floats through my head. I don’t realise I’m humming it until I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, affectionate and admiring.

“No, don’t stop,” he urges me. “Please.” When I start humming again, he steps in front of me and takes me in his arms. We’re slightly outside of town, alone in the moonlit snow, so I let him urge me into dancing to my singing, moving in gentle waltz steps. I feel both foolish and absurdly happy that I’ve come to a place in my life when such a ridiculously romantic moment feels not just welcome, but natural. The whole world fades away as we look into each other’s eyes, and I realise it’s the first time we’ve been genuinely alone, away from both people and listening devices, probably since before we were reaped – maybe the first time ever. I find myself a bit nervous, but strangely it’s a good nervous, one that makes my heart beat fast. I know it’s not like anything I’d ever felt before Peeta. Peeta is smiling at me, looking happy to just stand there all night looking at me. What I want, though, is to be closer to him. There’s something different about wanting to kiss him when I know we really are alone, but as always something in him makes me want to dare it anyway. I stand up my tiptoes and tug on his coat. He puts both hands on my waist to pull me close as he bends down, his eyes bright with expectation. Just as our lips are about to touch, though, a voice rings out in the darkness.

“Get away from her” We both spin around in a rush of panic, trying to find the source but relax as Gale comes out of the darkness into the moonlight. “No cameras out here, Katniss, he can’t make you kiss him.” I glance at Peeta, who’s looking at me in question.

“Sorry, were you meeting him here?” he asks uncertainly.

“No.” I say, trying to reassure him. “No, I thought we were alone.” He doesn’t look quite convinced, but he stays put at least. Gale is storming towards us looking furious. He’s not even really looking at me, focussed solely on Peeta.

“I always knew you wanted her, but I thought even you wouldn’t be cold enough to manipulate her into your bed,” Gale mutters before he throws a right hook that sends Peeta down at once. I immediately throw myself in front of Gale and shove him back before kneeling next to Peeta and putting a handful of snow to his cheek. Peeta keeps a wary eye on Gale, but glances at me to see how I want to handle this.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “Peeta hasn’t done anything wrong.” I hadn’t intended to confront Gale in front of Peeta. As it is I’ll have to say just enough to get Gale to calm down and go home without saying anything that’s going to hurt Peeta too badly. Great.

“Don’t lie to me,” Gale sneers, glaring down at the two of us. “Don’t you dare talk to me like the whole country didn’t see you all over each other at the President’s mansion. People don’t act like that unless they’re… you’re not that good an actress, Katniss.”

“Well you would know how people act,” says Peeta. I know he’s trying to deflect attention from me, but I wish he wouldn’t. “Or is Katniss not supposed to know about all the girls you’ve been with? You can do what you like while she’s pure as the driven snow?”

“Shut up, Mellark. You’re not worth the dirt on her boots.”

“Maybe not, but she’s the one who gets to decide,” replies Peeta. “And for the record, you don’t actually need to worry. Her virtue is intact. Not that it’s any of your business.” He stands up and folds his arms, giving Gale a blank stare. His quick sidelong glance at me is now his only sign of discomfort. I stand up too.

“I was going to come talk to you tomorrow,” I say tentatively. “I’m sorry you had to watch all that.”

“You said it was an act,” Gale growls accusingly.

“It was,” I defend. “But now…” When I pause, the atmosphere is heavy, weighed down by the expectation of both boys. I take a deep breath. “Now it’s not.” Gale blinks. I think he thought I’d deny it, hoped I’d come back pleading him to forgive me. But I can’t do that. It’s not safe for him, and it’s not fair to Peeta, who also gave an involuntary jolt of surprise when I confirmed our relationship. “It’s been a long trip, and we’re heading home. You should too.” Deciding I’ve been brave enough for one night, I don’t quite meet his eyes as I speak. Instead I just take Peeta by the hand and head out down the road. I don’t look back.

We’re almost back at the Victor’s Village when I find I’m losing the battle to hold back the tears that have clogged my throat since I walked away from Gale. Peeta stops at my first shaky sniff. “Oh, Katniss,” he says sympathetically, holding me close in a comforting bear hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I hate hurting him,” I sob. “He was my best friend. I didn’t even know he felt like that until recently, and I didn’t know what to do about it even before you… but I never meant to hurt him this much.”

“He’ll forgive you,” Peeta murmurs. “I’m so sorry, Katniss. I’ve really messed things up for you.” I’m tired of talking, so I just shake my head and squeeze him tighter.When I’m feeling steady again I take a deep breath and kiss him on the chin. “Better?” he asks. I nod. “Let’s get you home, then,” he says. “I bet your Mom’s waiting up.”

Peeta leaves me outside my door with a very respectable kiss on the cheek and a promise to stop by tomorrow. As I walk up to my own empty room I can’t help but think how nice it would be if he could have come with me, and for almost the first time I actually look forward to a time when we’re married, when I’ll never have to be alone if I don’t want to. Despite my heavy heart I focus on the better parts of the evening, trying to think of something pleasant as I go to sleep. The last thing I think of is dancing in the snow with Peeta, and before long I sink into a beautiful dream where Gale doesn’t come, where Peeta and I stand kissing in a dreamland of crystal snowflakes.

Of course it doesn’t stay peaceful. Before too long I’m alone in a wasteland, surrounded by corpses. Everyone who was at the party lies dead at my feet. I run home, desperately seeking my family. I run into the house and head for the kitchen, and it’s there that I find Peeta, spread out over the table with his throat cut… That’s when I wake screaming. As in my dream on the train I reach for Peeta, but of course he’s not there. I can’t get the thought of his dead body out of my thoughts. I can’t make my breathing slow. I go running down the stairs in my nightgown, out the door and across the lawn until I’m banging on Peeta’s door. At first I don’t hear anything – is it possible he’s still asleep? Is there some other reason he can’t come to the door? But then I hear a re-assuring thud of a single foot coming down the stairs. The door opens and I fling myself into his arms.

“Katniss, are you ok?” I nod, still burying my face in his chest.

“Was it a dream?” he asks with a soft, sympathetic voice.

“Did I wake you?” I ask. He gives a dark chuckle.

“No,” is the brusque answer. “I’ve been awake for awhile, painting.” I give him a squeeze – that means he woke from a nightmare too. Peeta looks past me, and it’s only then that I realise my mother has followed me and is standing on the porch. “It’s ok, Mrs. Everdeen, she just had a nightmare. I’ll bring her home in a minute,” Peeta says.

“I don’t like her coming here at night,” my mother says disapprovingly. “You’re not married yet.” I roll my eyes but Peeta plays nice as always.

“We won’t make a habit of it,” he says. “We both had trouble with dreams on the train, so we got in the habit of waking each other up. If we went to the lounge the attendants would make us warm milk.” Peeta lies smoothly, carefully implying that we were in separate rooms and under the eyes of adults when we were together. My mother is slightly mollified. “Honestly, Mrs Everdeen, we won’t be able to sleep. We’ll just have a cup of warm milk together and then she’ll be home.” I could care less what my mother thinks, but I think Peeta wants to have a good relationship with her. She agrees, and as soon as she’s turned back to the house Peeta has the door closed. Instantly I’m back in his arms and we’re clinging to each other. “Thank goodness you came,” he breathes. “I was going crazy here on my own.”

“What are we going to do?” I ask. Is he really going to give me hot milk and send me home?

“Well first of all, I’m going to put my leg on. Can you poke the fire a bit?” he asks. I nod and do as he asks. Soon I hear his normal tread coming down the stairs.

“Can we just sit?” I ask. I suppose it’s presumptuous of me to assume the same rules apply at home as on the train, but Peeta doesn’t seem to be feeling very amorous right now so we’re both on the same page. I just want to be reassured he’s alive.

“Of course,” he says, sitting on the sofa and holding an arm out to me. I curl into him, and the steady beat of his heart soon soothes me. When I wake again I’m aware that someone is carrying me – a moment’s reflection reveals it’s Peeta. My mother must open the door for us because I take in a whispered exchange between the two of them before Peeta starts upstairs. He deposits me gently on my bed and turns to leave, but I grab his hand.

“Stay,” I insist. I can’t stand the thought of waking up alone again.

“Um, I don’t think I should,” he replies, looking over his shoulder at my mother.

“Just til I fall asleep again,” I insist. I couldn’t care less what she thinks.

“Leave the door open,” is her condition. Peeta obligingly sits on the bed, above the covers, and I place my head on his chest.

I must be mostly asleep because I vaguely hear myself say “I can’t wait til we live together so you never have to go home.”

“Me too,” Peeta murmurs.


End file.
